


disappear

by cosmicallycatastrophic



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dissociation, Multi, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Slice of Life, a bit angsty, bucky deserves to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 19:45:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11470422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicallycatastrophic/pseuds/cosmicallycatastrophic
Summary: Bucky disappears sometimes.





	disappear

**Author's Note:**

> this is uber short but i just have a lot of feelings about bucky and sam/steve/bucky. my knowledge of the marvel timeline is pretty sketchy so sorry about that! all u need to know is after civil war bucky moves in with steve and sam stays over often. feel free to hit me up on tumblr at greedismyservant :^)

Bucky disappears sometimes.

It’s not like how it used to be, when Bucky would disappear across state boundaries, running and invisible. Now, there’s no trail to follow. Now, Bucky’s body stays where it is, which makes it worse; he’s so much harder to find when he’s lost inside his head.

When it happens, he sits there, blank, passive. He says nothing, his words are gone with the rest of him. He comes back to Steve holding his hand, or Sam sitting next to him with coffee. He hears the hum of the dryer, he smells meatballs on the stove. Sometimes, Bucky lets himself cry. Sometimes his cheeks are wet regardless. Bucky doesn’t know where he disappears to; he is caught in memories that he simultaneously does and doesn’t recognise. He gets violent sometimes beforehand, he claws at his shoulder and his dirty metal skin and his machine hands; he can’t control his body or his reflexes, he can’t control what sets him off. Steve has to hold his arms down and wrap him in a ferocious bear hug. It hurts them both.

Bucky never knows how much time has passed until he stands and looks out the window, bones cracking, muscles cramped. When he goes to the bathroom, his reflection is always some variation of _monster_.

 

* * *

 

On Wednesday, Steve gets home with the groceries, and unloads them in the kitchen before heading to the living room. He’s been out all afternoon; catching up with Bruce, going to the gym, doing the supermarket run. He left Bucky just after lunch. Bucky said he was just going to watch some junk TV; he even kissed Steve goodbye. Steve thought this was a good day. It’s not a good day.

Bucky is gone, hunched against the radiator next to the couch, and Sam is cross-legged opposite him. Bucky’s eyes are open and vacant, his knees drawn up, his whole body tense. He’s shirtless, and blood is smeared down the left side of his chest.

Steve lowers himself down next to Sam.

“How long?” He says.

Sam shrugs, chewing his bottom lip. “He was like this when I got here, few minutes ago. He had Netflix on, dunno what it was, maybe there were guns.”

Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s chest, feeling his heartbeat. It’s almost normal. They’ve talked about this before, in short, stilted conversations, when Bucky had the energy. He said sometimes he thinks too hard and it’s impossible to escape; Steve had to do his best not to upset Bucky by crying, because he knows what it’s like, to drown in the past. He knows how much it hurts, being locked in the darkest parts of his brain, no escape. No escape.

Bucky’s okay with contact while he’s under, just small touches. He said that sometimes it helps him reach the surface again. Steve pulls his hand away and it’s flecked with dry blood. Sam notices where he’s looking.

“I didn’t know if cleaning it would make things worse. Don’t wanna push him down further.” He scrubs his hand over his head. “I made coffee, that helps him sometimes, I think it’s the smell.”

Steve reaches for Sam’s hand. “It’s okay.” He uses his free hand to brush Bucky’s hair out of his eyes and scratches his scalp lightly. “Buck, Bucky. Can you hear me? I’m here, Bucky.”

Slowly, Bucky’s knees go slack, his eyes get more present. He looks Steve in the eye, and his mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve says softly, offering his hand, palm up. Bucky takes it and lets his eyes slide shut. He breathes out when Sam tucks his hair behind his ears.

“You here?” Sam asks. Bucky nods, and then shakes his head slightly, his blue eyes still a little clouded when they crack open. But he’s responding, and that’s good, it’s so good, Steve’s heart goes loose with relief. Sam keeps stroking Bucky’s hair. “You haven’t got your words, ‘s that it?” Sam says, his voice steady and calm, and Bucky nods again. “That’s okay, that’s okay. We’re here. Steve’s gonna come with you to the bathroom, and I’ll make toast, that okay?” Bucky nods, and Sam kisses him on the cheek, and goes through to the kitchen.

Steve helps Bucky to his feet, and catches his elbow when his stiff leg muscles give out. He must have been sitting there for hours, scared, alone, and Steve hurts inside because of it. He squeezes Bucky’s hand and leads him to the bathroom.

Bucky sits on the closed toilet lid and closes his eyes while Steve runs a flannel under warm water and deftly, gently wipes the blood off his chest. When it’s gone, Steve can see the angry fingernail scratches that caused it, right at the juncture between metal and skin.

“Steve,” Bucky says, and his voice is rough and uneasy, and Steve’s heart jumps. Steve looks up, makes eye contact, puts his hands on Bucky’s knees.

“I’m here, Buck. How’re you feeling?”

Bucky shakes his head, searching for words. “I’m here, now. I don’t wanna go back under.”

“Hey, that’s okay. Wanna go have something to eat?”

Bucky nods.

 

Bucky ate his toast loaded with peanut butter slowly and neatly, nodding to Sam and offering a few words to the conversation, even laughing when Steve tripped on the rug in front of the couch and still managed to catch his glass of water. He came back up to normal, quietly, uncertainly.

He’s calmer now, lying in the middle of the king bed, with Steve pressed warm against his back and Sam’s stubbly legs draped over his. It’s late and Sam is almost asleep, breathing slow against Bucky’s chest. He likes it. He likes being here with them, in between something solid and hot and _real_. He likes being wanted and cared for. He likes morning kisses and afternoon laughter and low tender nights with the two people who saved him, who keep saving him.

Steve is tracing patterns on Bucky’s hips, kissing his neck every so often, never letting go. His fingernails spread light across Bucky’s skin. Bucky holds Steve’s hand in his and tries to remember how to breathe. Bucky knows that he can stay here, loved and safe, that he can take his time to heal and become someone stable, someone who doesn’t feel like a monster when he looks in the mirror, someone who doesn’t disappear. It puts a weight in his chest. It feels like something glowing inside him.

Bucky doesn’t like to jinx things, but it feels like happiness.


End file.
